Lawman Excerpt

     Gerard Fontenot stood in the shadows, in an alley off St. Peter Street, waiting. Waiting was something he understood. He didn't like it, but he could do it. He had waited for four years to be here tonight. And while he waited, he'd planned.
     A small smile played around his thin lips. Detective Maxwell had underestimated him. They all had. They couldn't pin his wife's murder on him, although Maxwell had tried. For some reason, he had taken Fontenot's case as a personal vendetta. He'd dogged Fontenot's footsteps until he'd nearly driven him crazy.
     Shooting Maxwell four years ago had been a foolish mistake, caused by Maxwell getting too close. Maxwell had almost blundered onto the truth about Fontenot's wife's death.
     No more mistakes. He'd learned patience and control in prison. He'd perfected his plans and honed his hatred to razor sharpness. He'd always known he was smarter. Now he was invincible. No one could touch him now.
     He was playing with Maxwell, toying with him like a cat with a mouse, and the results were already more than he could have hoped. It was a brilliant maneuver to involve Maxwell's ex-wife. Brilliant. Maxwell was spooked. Fontenot could tell. The detective knew what he was up to, but he couldn't do anything about it
      Fontenot's smile widened as Maxwell's Laser pulled up to the curb. The detective unfolded his lanky frame from the car, and glanced around. Fontenot stood absolutely still, relishing the tingling excitement as Maxwell's gaze flickered past the shadowed alley in which he stood.
      His heartbeat accelerated and a bead of sweat limned his upper lip as Maxwell disappeared into the stairwell leading to his upstairs apartment. Although Fontenot could no longer see him, his mind counted out each step, each action, as Maxwell moved inevitably toward his destiny.
      Fontenot didn't move a muscle, didn't breathe. His muscles tensed, and his groin tightened in anticipation as sweetly agonizing as slow, drawn-out foreplay. He waited.

      By the time Cody's brain registered what he'd heard, it was too late. He threw himself sideways with every ounce of strength he commanded, but it wasn't enough. His head hit first, and slid as his shoulder slammed into the hardwood floor. For a few seconds, the quiet, ominous click echoed in his ears, seeming louder than the explosion which followed.
      He lay, tense and still, listening for any sound that would tell him his attacker was still there. Nothing. The building was quiet, now that the echo of the gunshot had faded. Down the hall, he heard a door slam. His mouth turned up.
      Thanks, neighbor. Good thing he wasn't hurt. Cautiously, he reached for his gun, and his left shoulder screamed with pain.
      Too slow. Dev and the other guys would give him hell for being too slow to dodge a bullet. Dana would be terrified.
      He winced at that unguarded thought. No she wouldn't. She wasn't part of his life any more. He sat up slowly, and took stock of his condition. Nasty bump on his forehead, painful scrape on his cheek. Bullet wound in his shoulder. From the way it felt, he guessed the bullet had gone clean through the meaty part of his bicep. He turned his head and saw the mark on the wall. Yep.
      He stood, and swayed with unexpected dizziness. His left arm didn't want to work, and he could feel blood, hot and sticky, wetting his sweatshirt. He glanced down. Damn. His leather jacket was ruined.
      Cody pulled out his cell phone and nudged it open with his chin. He pressed a fast-dial button, and leaned against the wall, praying that his partner hadn't let his cell phone battery go down.
      "Dev? Hey, man. I need some . . . help." Cody blinked against the blackness that was seeping in from the edge of his vision, and looked at the kitchen chair, which had been positioned directly in front of the door.
      "Help? How'd you manage to get in trouble in the past fifteen minutes? What's up?" Detective Devereaux Gautier's voice was tinged with amusement.
      "Well, I've got a situation. At my apartment. Can you get over here right away and call it in?
      "Situation? You okay?" His partner's voice immediately became professionally crisp.
      "Yeah, I'm okay," he said wryly. "Just a flesh wound. Fontenot booby-trapped my door. Listen, man, I'm afraid he may have done something to Dana's place." His gaze roamed over the revolver and the nylon cord securing it.
      "Fontenot? So your crazy notions about that bastard ain't so crazy, eh? Stay there, Code. I'll be right over."
      "Nope. Can't. Dana's out of town. Her answering machine says she'll be back tomorrow. Dev? Can I count on you?."
      "You know it, my man."
      "Thanks." He flipped off the cell phone and walked over to look more closely at the .38 special. The cord had been run through the trigger guard and around the back of the chair, then fashioned to an intricate pulley mechanism attached to the doorknob. He looked at the barrel of the gun, then at the door, then back at the gun.
      Cody cursed as he took in the full implications of what he saw. "If you wanted me dead, I'd be dead, wouldn't I? You're playing with me."
      Anger, harsh and swift, cut through him, then his knees went weak.
     "Dana," he whispered, refusing even to allow his brain to imagine what Fontenot might have done at her place. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the tiny gold disk he'd found this morning on his car seat. He knew how it had gotten there. Fontenot had been in Dana's apartment. He'd left the earring on Cody's car seat as a message.   I can get to her. Cody closed his fist around his ex-wife's earring.
      "I swear to God, Fontenot," he whispered to the empty room. "If you hurt one hair on her head, I will hunt you down like the monster you are."